


The Way to Mending

by cassisluna



Series: The Process of Healing [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic, Canon Era, Episode: s05e08 The Hollow Queen, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff, Hurt Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, Lancelot is alive, M/M, Protective Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 02:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13203408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassisluna/pseuds/cassisluna
Summary: Takes the place of S5E8: The Hollow Queen. Sequel to The Process of Healing.Arthur rescues Merlin in the Valley of the Fallen Kings after Morgana has poisoned him, but there are more troubles at hand. They seek to unite Camelot and Amata in peace, but Gwen is still under Morgana's spell and Lord Sarrum is either a friend or a murderer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to The Process of Healing. You can probably read this as a stand-alone, but some details might not make sense. :)

Arthur thinks, as he rides through the forest with dread thrumming in his veins, that he really needs to learn to trust Merlin whenever Merlin says someone is out to betray him. Merlin was certainly right about Agravaine then, and he is probably right about Guinevere now.  
  
But, Arthur thinks with a pang in his heart, it's just so... preposterous, that sweet Guinevere with all the love the world can hold would be working for Morgana.  
  
Guinevere, the woman he once loved, the woman he asked to rule with him, the now reigning Queen of Camelot... who lied in his face and said that Merlin was off dallying with some girl, when the _whole castle_  knew that the only dallying Merlin has been doing for the past three years is in King Arthur's bed.  
  
More alarmingly, Gwen lied in _Lancelot’s_ face, and that was probably the moment that Arthur realized that Merlin was right, Gwen _is_  enchanted, and Merlin missing for the whole morning means that he is in danger.  
  
He barely even had time to spare Lancelot, shocked and anguished, a sympathetic look, before he had rushed to Gaius' chambers, all but demanding where Merlin was.  
  
Gaius had long since given up on the tavern excuse, after realizing that all Arthur cared for now is Merlin's safety. "He said something about helping a Druid boy, sire, and went off to the Valley of the Fallen Kings early this morning. I thought..." Gaius had hesitated, unwilling to touch on their personal problems, but at Arthur's nod, continued, "I thought he had informed you."  
  
It is no secret to those close to them that they had been arguing as of late. Only Gaius knows the reason why: Merlin's distrust of Gwen ever since Elyan's death and her imprisonment in the Dark Tower, and Arthur's insistence at what a ridiculous idea it was.  
  
_Maybe this is why he didn't want to tell me about his magic then, because I'm such an arse,_ Arthur thinks bitterly as he pushes his horse into a gallop. He urges his horse on faster, eyes searching the trees, trusting that his knights would follow and are doing their own survey.  
  
Gwaine and Mordred had separated from them a while back to cover a wider area, and so all Arthur has with him is Percival and Leon. Lancelot had stayed with Guinevere, and Arthur wouldn't have brought him even if he wanted to come – not just so that they could avoid Morgana becoming suspicious, but for Gwen, who is still there, helpless, underneath Morgana's enchantment.  
  
And such few knights are all Arthur can afford to bring with him without Sarrum noticing. Sarrum, the ruler of the kingdom of Amata infamous for his cruelty and penchant for assassinations, had arrived early that morning and is currently back in the castle, resting in his chambers until the dinner feast to be held that night.  
  
Sarrum had been another source of their arguments, because Arthur had been busy enough and jittery enough with all the preparations for his arrival and their treaty that he had been rather... short with Merlin for the past few days.  
  
Of _course,_ Merlin wouldn't go to him about some inconsequential Druid boy.  
  
He grits his teeth, and shakes the morose thoughts off his head. His anger will not help anyone now, and will just further cloud his judgments, which is what his panic is currently doing.  
  
_Merlin, stay alive, you fool,_ he thinks desperately, and it is in that moment that Percival yells.  
  
"Sire, there!"  
  
Arthur halts to an abrupt stop and hears his knights do the same. Their horses neigh in complaint, but Arthur cannot bring himself to be concerned for them now, as he looks in the distance, through the trees, painfully hoping to see Merlin alive and well with a sheepish smile on his face –  
  
But all he sees is a boy. Barely passing sixteen summers. His hair is messy, flecked with dry leaves and dirt, and he is pale, out of breath as he stumbles on root after root, and his robes...  
  
Arthur hears his own sharp intake of breath before he realizes that he has done it. "A Druid boy."  
  
As if hearing him, though he possibly couldn't have from their distance, the boy's head shoots up and a brief look of terror flashes across his face. But it is gone almost immediately, replaced by a shaky resolve.  
  
And then the boy yells: "Help!"  
  
But it changes nothing, as Arthur and his knights are already galloping towards him.  
  
"Are you a knight of Camelot, sir?" the boy asks, and he is trembling as he nervously shifts his eyes to try to get a glimpse of the crest on their cloaks.  
  
"I am King Arthur of Camelot," Arthur replies.  
  
"Oh," the boy says, and he turns even paler then. His lips are starting to lose their color. He looks terrified beyond measure, but Arthur can commend him for struggling to call forth his courage. And then the boy falls to one knee, a pitiful excuse for a curtsy, and he is sobbing, and the next words that pass his lips sound like they have come from Arthur's worst nightmares.  
  
"Your Majesty. I'm sorry, I... Merlin. _Merlin_ , he needs help."  
  
In a heartbeat, Leon is hauling the boy by the armpits to sit on his horse in front of him. "Point the way," he commands, too alarmed to remember to gentle his tone.  
  
The boy is crying now, sobbing freely, but his finger raises, and Arthur is kicking his horse before he has even thought of it, because now he only has one thing in his mind:  
  
_Merlin_.

* * *

When he sees him, at the mouth of the Valley of the Fallen Kings, he is not prepared for the sight.  
  
Merlin, his Merlin, dirty and sprawled on the forest floor. His limbs are bent in awkward angles, and he is pale, so pale, his face is deathly white that his veins are starting to show, and it's _terrifying_. The blood on his forehead is sickeningly bright. His lips are tinged blue, he is foaming at the mouth, and his eyes are closed, and his chest is not moving –  
  
In a terrifying moment that lasted several loud heartbeats, Arthur feels the world dim and all the blood in his body turn cold. He is vaguely aware of the pain in his knees as he jumps from his horse and sprints forward, almost tumbling over wayward roots, and then he is kneeling beside Merlin, and it is _hard to breathe_.  
  
"Merlin," he croaks, agonized, at Merlin's still form. "Merlin!" he yells louder, desperately, and his hands whip out to grip at Merlin's shoulders –  
  
And then Merlin's chest heaves once, and he is gasping, and his eyes are open wide and golden.  
  
Arthur can feel the sobs racking his body, can hear himself take shuddery breaths of relief, and there are tears probably running down on his face, but Merlin is _alive_ , moving, _breathing_.  
  
"Turn –" Merlin gasps, a dry, pained sound. "– side... 'thur..."  
  
And Arthur is rolling him to the side, facing him, but never once removing his hands from Merlin's body.  
  
Merlin is shaking, shivering, but it's okay, Arthur revels in the movement like a starved man because it means Merlin is still here, with him.  
  
Merlin's body heaves once more, and then he is vomiting all over the earth, and Arthur runs his hands all over Merlin's arms, his back, the side of his torso in soothing patterns.  
  
Arthur realizes his hands are shaking as well, and his fingertips are still cold and numb with fear.  
  
Soon, Merlin's retching subsides into dry heaves, and then into deep inhales of lungfuls of air. Arthur keeps his hands on him faithfully, rubbing his back in comfort and brushing back strands of Merlin's hair, which had stuck to his face with cold sweat.  
  
From behind him, he hears the clink of armor and the sound of crunching leaves, and is not surprised when Leon wordlessly appears at his side with a wineskin.  
  
"Merlin," Arthur starts, and his voice cracks. He swallows and tries again, blinking the unshed tears away from his eyes. "Merlin, can you sit up?"  
  
Merlin lets out a muffled groan. "Can't... move..."  
  
Arthur nods. He feels as if his heart is in his throat. "Does it hurt when I move you?"  
  
Merlin shifts his head to the side, which Arthur takes for a no. "Numb," he lets out with great effort.  
  
"Leon," Arthur calls roughly, and Leon is kneeling on the ground, at the other side of Merlin's body. Gently, Arthur pulls Merlin up by the shoulders, arranges him in a sitting position, and lets him lean against Leon's chest and shoulder.  
  
Gingerly, Arthur reaches around Merlin's neck to remove his neckerchief. The skin beneath is clean, unblemished, and Arthur is reminded very quickly of the burns and the bite mark that once laid there, years ago.  
  
He pushes away the memory. Now is not the time. Arthur lifts the neckerchief to gently wipe at Merlin's mouth and chin.  
  
There is a stench of vomit in the air, but Arthur resolutely ignores it, doesn't care for it if it means Merlin has life.  
  
Merlin's eyes are drooping, and he is obviously fighting to keep himself awake. He stares at Arthur as Arthur does his ministrations, too tired to do anything else, but he needs to say something. He tenses his whole body to try to speak again and grunts out, "Gwen..."  
  
Arthur knows they have a lot to talk about, and he has a lot to apologize for, and he resolves to do so with Merlin in his bed, in his arms, against his chest, _breathing_ , _alive_ , and he is _never letting go_ –  
  
He takes a deep breath at the sudden onslaught of emotion he feels. He lets it out shakily, empties his lungs of the fear and dread. He seeks out Merlin’s eyes, wanting to assure himself. Merlin stares back at him, and there is sympathy in his eyes, and so much love.  
  
Swallowing thickly, Arthur lays the neckerchief on his lap, and lifts the wineskin to Merlin's lips. "Drink."  
  
As Merlin gulps the water hungrily, Arthur replies, "I know. It's why I came running off to find you, and _thank the gods_ , I did. I don't know... _Merlin_..."  
  
And his voice is cracking again, and his vision is blurring with tears, but Leon has respectfully looked away. Merlin, the insufferable idiot, turns away from the wineskin and _chuckles_.  
  
"Mmm... had it... under control," he jokes. He is poisoned, paralyzed, and probably has a broken leg or two, and he's _joking_ , trying to make Arthur smile, and Arthur doesn't know whether to kiss him or hit him in the head.  
  
Merlin's weak smile at him afterwards tells him that his concern is warmly appreciated.  
  
Merlin takes another shaky inhale and heaves out, "Morgana."  
  
There is a silence that settles at that, and while they have all expected it, the name still lingers heavily and palpably in the air. Across Merlin's shoulder, Arthur and Leon share a glance.  
  
But speaking is obviously effortful for him, and he winces. Instead, he tries another tactic. He looks over Arthur's shoulder, eyes meaningful, and says, "Daegal."  
  
Arthur is reminded once again of the boy, and he turns around to see him standing there, looking like a terrified wreck. Percival is behind him, one hand firmly on his shoulder.  
  
Arthur wonders what part the boy plays in all of this.  
  
"Sire," Daegal gasps out, trembling. He shifts wide eyes to Merlin, and they stare at each other for a while, before the boy seems to make himself a decision. With great effort, he holds himself up straighter, and moves his gaze to King Arthur. 

"The Lady Morgana… She asked me to bring Merlin to her… I…” Here, Daegal twists his fingers in his robes, his arms trembling. He is crying again. “I didn’t know she was going to try to kill him, _honest_. I think… I think she wants to kill you, too, she’s meeting with the Queen, I’m… I’m sorry.”

His knees buckle from underneath him and he falls to the ground, bent over and sobbing. Percival does not move to comfort him. There is a dark shadow on his face, which he obviously tries to school, and he looks away from the boy with a locked jaw and lips pressed tight.

Arthur can sympathize. He can feel his anger rising, simmering, at Morgana, at this boy for doing this to Merlin, but it’s being overpowered by the sheer relief he feels that he got to Merlin on time.

“We ride for Camelot,” Arthur announces gruffly, catching Percival’s gaze and then Leon’s. "And not a word of this to anyone."

He turns back to Merlin, runs a thumb across his pale cheek, and says, “We’re taking you immediately to Gaius.”

Merlin closes his eyes, leans against Arthur’s touch, and nods.

Arthur glances back at Percival. “Bring the boy.”

Daegal is still sobbing, crying, but does not resist when Percival gently pulls at his shoulder and guides him towards his horse. Arthur and Leon help Merlin up, and it takes them a while to carry and move his dead weight.

Merlin groans softly from time to time, but only complains when he realizes he is being seated on Arthur’s horse, for his back to lean on Arthur’s chest, and to be held in place by his arms. He chuckles weakly yet again. “Not… proper…”

“Not proper for a servant to ride on the king’s steed, I _know._ Shut _up,_ Merlin,” Arthur replies, and while Leon is still busy climbing onto his horse, he steals a moment to embrace Merlin tightly to him and _feel_ him. He whispers in Merlin’s ears, voice trembling, “I’m the king, you idiot. I decide what’s proper for the king’s consort.”

Merlin groans yet again, but for an entirely different reason. “You promised… _no titles._ ”

Arthur laughs, quietly, and wishes he can kiss him.

“Ready, sire,” Leon’s voice rings out, and Arthur lifts his reins.

They ride back to Camelot as fast as they can, Merlin in his arms and his heart stuck in his throat.

* * *

They arrive with only an hour left before the feast, and they head straight for Gaius’ chambers. Gaius only needs a quick explanation, and he is off to his shelves, grabbing jars of herbs before settling them on his worktable.

Merlin is on the cot, still pale, and he has started to shiver. There is foam dripping from his lips again, along with a thin trail of viscous black liquid. He slips in and out of consciousness, and Arthur holds his hand tightly through it all, refusing to let go.

“Gaius,” Arthur croaks out, desperate. He cares nothing for appearances now. They are the only ones in the room, as Leon and Percival had escorted Daegal to the dungeons. “Gaius, will he…”

“It’s a good thing you found him early, sire,” Gaius says somberly, even as his hands do not falter from their work grinding the herbs. He glances at the black liquid dripping down Merlin’s cheek. “That poison is designed for a long, agonizing death.”

The word has Arthur tightening his hold on Merlin’s fingers, and Merlin startles in his sleep, eyebrows furrowing. Arthur tries to relax his hand, but fear is keeping his whole body stiff. “He’s not…”

Gaius does not turn to look at him when he says, softly and wrecked with restrained emotion, “Let’s hope not.”

They are not the words that Arthur needs to hear.

* * *

After giving the tincture, it takes Merlin half an hour for his body to convulse and for him to wake up yet again. Arthur is by his side immediately, cupping his face. 

“Merlin? Merlin. Merlin…” He is murmuring, again and again, and he looks like such a wreck, that Merlin can’t help himself but voice so.

“You look horrible, Arthur,” he says, chuckling breathlessly. He lifts an arm, and Arthur gets the message, leaning forward to gather him in an embrace. Merlin throws his arm around his back, burrowing his face in Arthur’s neck and inhaling deeply, breathing in his scent.

Arthur is too relieved to even reprimand Merlin for what he said.

“Honestly, boy,” Gaius is saying from behind him, and they both turn back to see the old man holding himself up with an arm on his worktable and a hand on his heart. Immediately, Arthur moves to him and steadies him with a hand on his elbow and another on his back. He leads Gaius to the chair beside Merlin’s cot and sits him down gently.

“You’d think you’ve learned a thing or two about following strange Druid children to dangerous forests,” Gaius continues admonishingly, but there is relief on his face and tears in the corner of his eyes.

Merlin smiles weakly, but gratefully. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m an old man, Merlin. You need to stop doing this to me,” Gaius says, giving a small smile back.

Arthur puts a hand on Gaius’ shoulder and presses it firmly. “Don’t worry, Gaius. I’ll have him see reason.”

Gaius nods, shoulders sagging, and back relaxing against the chair. He motions towards the clock on the wall. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do that after the dinner feast, Your Majesty. You only have half an hour left to get ready.”

At once, Arthur and Merlin’s heads turn to look at the time.

Merlin shifts his gaze back to Arthur. “George is probably already having a fit waiting for you in your chambers.”

Immediately, Arthur looks torn, and Merlin knows him enough to understand that Arthur doesn’t want to leave him, but knows what he needs to do for his kingdom. He just woke up, and It is sudden, and Merlin himself, if he allows himself to be selfish, doesn’t want Arthur to leave. He wants to embrace Arthur again, feel the press of his body against his, and just lie there cocooned in warmth until he gets the fear of almost dying out of his blood.

Instead, he slowly lifts a hand, which Arthur grabs immediately.

Merlin smiles at him. “You are destined to unite this land, Arthur.”

Overcome yet again by the love he has for this man, Arthur brings his hand to his lips and promises fervently, “I’ll be back.”

* * *

Arthur is late to the feast, if only by a few minutes, but Gwen’s tight-lipped smile greets him as he enters the great hall. He flashes her a smile back, then shifts his gaze to Lancelot who is sitting on the other side of the queen. Their expressions both do not change, and they cannot do anything right now without giving anything away. As he nears, Arthur grips Sarrum’s shoulder in greeting.

“I hope you’re having a pleasant evening so far, Lord Sarrum,” he says, schooling his voice and posture fit for a king. At the back of his mind, there is Merlin, there is always Merlin, but tonight, he promised him that he would get that treaty.

“I am,” Sarrum replies agreeably as he empties his goblet of red wine. From behind him, a servant lifts his hand and a pitcher hovers in the air and fills his goblet once more. Sarrum watches it carefully. “Though I must say things have greatly changed since the last time I was here. I had heard of news that Camelot has accepted sorcery within its walls, and now I see that the rumors are true.”

Arthur knows that Sarrum and his father shared similar views about sorcery, but also knows that Sarrum would not be so reckless as to insist on them inside Camelot’s walls.

Still, he acknowledges that not everyone is welcoming towards magic. “If it’s bothersome, I can get another servant to…”

“Nonsense,” Sarrum lets out roughly, as he shoves a slab of dry meat in his mouth. “I will say that I am not as open to sorcery as you are, but it hardly phases me.”

 _Arrogance,_ Arthur thinks, mind already moving as to what he needs to do to get on Sarrum’s good graces.

“Of course,” he replies smoothly. “There is even a rumor that you held Morgana prisoner. Is it true?”

A grin appears on Sarrum’s face as he looks straight at Arthur. “She's nothing to be feared. I kept her. Like an animal.”

Beside him, he feels Gwen bristle. Arthur keeps his expression calm, taking his own goblet and drinking from it as well. “How did you capture her? She's a sorceress. A High Priestess.”

“I found her weakness. Everyone has one, even a High Priestess.” Sarrum grabs another piece of meat. “A young dragon. Her love for that creature caused her to suffer more than she ever imagined possible.”

His grin widens. “But not more than she deserved. I knew that she wouldn't dare to use magic against me not while her beloved creature was at risk of harm. Such a shame.” There is a dark, feral look in his eyes as he continues. “All that power, all that beauty, abandoned and forgotten in a living grave.”

 _Greed for power,_ Arthur thinks next.

Despite all that Morgana has done, Arthur feels pain and anger for what happened to his sister. It’s inhumane. Sarrum really does live up to his reputation. “You're a harsh judge, Lord Sarrum,” he says instead, keeping his tone light.

Sarrum cackles loudly. “Not harsh enough. Morgana escaped – a lapse on my part. I will not be so foolish again.”

He licks the grease off his lips and smiles, teeth flashing. “Not that her time with me was entirely wasted. As the dragon grew, the pit became too small. Gradually, the creature was crippled and twisted. At night, you could hear its cries. They were even more heartbreaking than Morgana.”

The sound of wood creaking across the floor catches both of their attentions. They turn to look at Gwen, who had stood up, and is giving them an apologetic smile. “I hope the Sarrum will forgive me if I retire for the night.”

Sarrum shrugs his response.

Lancelot stands up as well. “Let me escort you out, my lady.”

“There’s no need for that, Lancelot,” Guinevere admonishes him gently, laying a hand on his arm. She smiles at him sweetly. “There’s no reason for you not to enjoy such a lovely feast, just because I am feeling unwell.”

“Forgive me, my lady, but enjoying the feast will be a hard feat if I am beside myself with worry.”

Gwen looks like she wants to refuse again, but seems to remember that both Arthur and Sarrum are watching them. She relaxes her face into another smile, and takes Lancelot’s outstretched hand. “Very well then. Thank you.”

Then, to the kings, she says, “Enjoy the rest of the night, gentlemen.”

Lancelot bows his head to them, and catches Arthur’s eye as he leaves.

They haven’t had a chance to talk yet, but Arthur is sure that Lancelot have been keeping Gwen in sight since then. It _had_ been quite suspicious when Gwen had taken to requesting walks alone, as Merlin had pointed out, but Arthur, the foolish man that he is, had argued that maybe Gwen was mourning her brother’s death and needed time on her own.

Whatever Gwen is planning is one problem, Arthur thinks as he returns back to the conversation.

Getting Sarrum to sign the treaty despite his dislike for magic is another.

* * *

Late into the night, when more goblets have been emptied, George appears behind him and whispers in his ear, “Lord Merlin has retired in your chambers, sire. He’s asked me to pass the message.”

All at once, the sudden _want_ to see Merlin washes over him, but as he is still in the middle of the feast with important guests to entertain, he merely nods in acknowledgment. He is also torn among irritation for Merlin not waiting in Gaius’ chambers like a good patient should, damned affection because it really has been _years_ since Merlin had slept anywhere else other than Arthur’s chambers, and amusement because Merlin will not appreciate to know that George is still calling him with a title.

However, as soon as it is appropriate for him to do so, Arthur excuses himself from the feast and all but rushes towards his chambers.

It is late now and the halls are quiet and empty. Arthur doesn’t know what hour it is, as he and Sarrum had engaged each other at length in a variety of different topics. Arthur believes that to be his victory for the night. He would even daresay believe that Sarrum had enjoyed his company, though the quantity of wine that he drank may have helped.

Tomorrow, he is scheduled to fight against Sarrum’s greatest warrior, for a bit of _‘fun’_ , which really translates to a show of power between kings.

But tonight, he resolves to occupy himself completely with Merlin.

He sees the door to his chambers and feels his heart leap excitedly. It’s like when he was younger, when he and Merlin were doing their ridiculous courting ritual instead of just tearing each other’s clothes off and tumbling in bed together. The need to physically be with Merlin at all times.

But Arthur understands why he’s like this, after the world had shoved in his arrogant face that it can take Merlin away from him at any time. The fear is still there, that gnawing monster at the pit of his stomach, and if Arthur closes his eyes, he knows he’ll see the image of Merlin back in the Valley of the Fallen Kings – pale, bleeding, eyes closed, and chest not moving.

He opens the doors and cannot help the sudden, shaky exhale of relief that slips out from his lips at the sight of Merlin, his Merlin, gathering his nightclothes from his wardrobe and laying them on the bed. There is a tub of water in the middle of the room, and though the night is cold, the water simmers gently and soft tendrils of steam lift from it.

Merlin is walking with a limp, and Arthur wants to berate him, maybe even cuff him on the head, but more than that, he just wants to take him to bed and keep him there. Merlin, now aware of his presence, looks up and smiles brightly, and he opens his mouth to speak, but Arthur has already crossed the room and grabbed his waist to pull him close and smash their lips together in a fierce kiss.

It’s like coming home, Merlin’s soft lips under his, his tongue inside the warmth of Merlin’s mouth. Merlin’s scent in his nostrils, of herbs and medicine and soap, and the relief thrumming in his veins, making his knees weak.

He pushes forward eagerly, desperate, licks at Merlin’s mouth like a starving man, and Merlin gives him whatever he is asking for. He raises his arms up and rubs his hands across Arthur’s back soothingly, as if Arthur is the one that needs comforting.

Arthur buries his fingers in Merlin’s hair, gently pulling, which he knows Merlin likes. In response, Merlin sighs against his lips and kisses him softly yet again.

Arthur pulls away, just enough so that he can press his lips on Merlin’s forehead and release another shaky exhale. “ _Honestly,_ Merlin,” he murmurs against skin. He swallows, and closes his eyes to keep the wetness at bay. “I ought to tie you to the bed. You’re _limping._ What’s the whole point of having magic if you can’t just wait for me in bed and… I don’t know, _magic things around_?”

“You’d say I was lazy,” Merlin says, laughing, but his fingers are tight around Arthur’s cape and Arthur can’t feel it through the armor, but he thinks Merlin’s hands are trembling.

“Mmm. You are,” Arthur replies, snorting, and then pulls back to get a good look at him.

There is more color to his cheeks now, but not as much as Arthur would prefer. He still looks tired, and there is still a gash on his forehead.

Merlin speaks before he can even ask. “Tomorrow. I’ll heal it tomorrow.” He smiles weakly. “Too tired.”

Arthur swallows down his question. He nods, kissing Merlin’s forehead yet again. “Rest. Wait for me in bed.”

Predictably, Merlin shakes his head. “Let me remove your armor.”

“You just said you were too tired.”

“Too tired for healing spells. Do you know how hard it is to mend skin?”

“Probably just as hard as removing armor.”

Merlin starts to unclasp his cape anyway and Arthur lets him, because it’s actually rather difficult for him to refuse Merlin anything.

“ _Alright,”_ he sighs and gives Merlin a dry look. “But you get in bed after this.”

“Let me wash your back.”

“ _Merlin.”_

Merlin cups his face in both hands and kisses him yet again. “Let me tend to you,” he whispers after, and the seriousness in his voice, the tone beneath his words that almost sounds like a plea makes Arthur pause.

He nods, wordlessly, and Merlin smiles gratefully at him before kneeling down on both knees to remove his leg braces.

“While I was there, in the forest, I was thinking… Oh no, how will the king of Camelot get dressed in the morning now?” Merlin is saying, and Arthur’s heart hurts at how he’s trying to keep his voice light, trying to make a joke as always.

Arthur swallows thickly. “You say that as if I don’t know how to dress myself on my own.”

“Do you?” Merlin looks up then, the edges of his lips quirked up and there is a challenge in his smile.

And Arthur looks at him straight in the eyes. “I have no need for mornings without you in it.”

There is a loud clank of metal as Arthur shakes his leg braces off and lets it fall to the ground. Merlin is still kneeling on the floor, and Arthur goes down as well, on one knee in front of him. He takes Merlin’s chin in his fingers, gently lifts his face up, and says somberly, “I’m sorry. Merlin. For the past few days. For not believing in you, and for how I’ve treated you. I… There is no excuse, I have been an absolute –”

“Clotpole?” Merlin supplies helpfully, but he’s smiling and there are tears in his eyes.

“That’s still not a word,” Arthur replies, mainly out of reflex, and lets Merlin pull him closer into an embrace.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry as well. I know I should have come to you about the boy, but… with the king of Amata coming and all…”

“I know,” Arthur whispers, burying his nose in Merlin’s hair. He pushes away all images of Merlin in that forest, and replaces them with the Merlin in his arms. Warm, alive, and his.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re here. I’ve got you.”

* * *

When Arthur has disposed of all his clothes and is chest-deep in the water, Merlin recounts Gaius’ descriptions of his injuries at Arthur’s inquiry.

He is sitting on a stool behind Arthur, rubbing slowly at his back with a washcloth. “Sprained ankle, two broken ribs, and scratched myself with some rocks, probably, on my forehead and leg.”

“Tell me again why you’re not in bed?” Arthur grumbles, but doesn’t resist when Merlin shoves his arm away to scrub at the sides of his torso.

He doesn’t see it, but he can imagine Merlin behind him grinning cheekily.

“I’m done, Your Highness.”

Arthur dries and dresses himself as quickly as he can, before working on _undressing_ his lover to get him ready for bed.

Even after all their nights together, Merlin still tries to shoo his hands away, and often returns to his age-old spiel of it not being proper for kings to tend to their servants, but Arthur knows that it’s also difficult for Merlin to refuse _him._  It’s even more meaningful now, because it has been a while since Arthur last did this due to their recent arguments and cold shoulders, and so he performs his task with extra care.

When they are both in their nightclothes and tangled together under the sheets, Merlin tells his story.

“He said he needed to help his sister,” he says softly, head on Arthur’s chest. Arthur’s arm is around him, and his fingers are playing with his hair. “Of course that was a lie, but he was… He tried to save me.”

At this, Merlin props himself up on his elbow and looks into Arthur’s eyes. “Are you going to…”

Arthur understands what Merlin is asking, but the chopping block has not been used in over a year now. And the boy has committed no sin other than putting his trust in the wrong person.

He uses his hand to gently nudge at Merlin’s head for it to lie back down on his chest. “He led me to you.”

And when Merlin relaxes against him and he feels Merlin’s lips turn up into a smile, he knows he has made the right decision.

* * *

Arthur wins against Haggar, known to be Amata’s strongest warrior. 

Haggar has obviously earned his title, and Arthur, panting, acknowledges this with a nod of approval. Had this been any other day, he thinks that there is a chance that he might have lost, but his whole body has been hungry for a fight following yesterday’s events. His muscles had been strung tight, and he had been itching to hack his sword at something, preferably Morgana.

Also, Merlin is watching.

It has been a long time since Arthur has felt the need to show off, but today, he does just that. Merlin is practically beaming at him, a towel resting on both his upturned hands.

Across the field, Sarrum meets Arthur’s eyes.

“I must say, it is hard for most men to impress me,” he says in a low grumble, and he looks unhappy, but there is grudging respect when he lifts his goblet in a toast. “But it is also hard for most men to defeat my warrior.”

“He has shown great skill,” Arthur says, still slightly out of breath. “It was a close battle.”

It was, but Sarrum guffaws loudly. “False modesty is unbecoming of a king. Come. Ride with me and tell me of your exploits.”

* * *

An hour before supper, Merlin leaves Arthur to George and slips away to visit Lancelot and Guinevere’s chambers. He had been wanting to talk to Lancelot, but couldn’t find an excuse how to separate him from Gwen without being suspicious. However, as he nears their door, he finds that he hadn’t needed to. 

Lancelot is outside the chambers, leaning on the wall beside the door. He cannot fathom why the queen’s consort would be waiting outside his own chambers, but doesn’t get the time to ask just yet.

When Lancelot sees him, his whole face brightens and there is relief in his eyes. He rushes forward, eagerly enveloping Merlin in a hug. “Merlin! When I heard the news, I thought we had lost you.”

“Takes more than that to finish me off,” Merlin chuckles, hugging back just as fiercely. “How did you know?”

“Leon visited us yesterday before the feast and told us of the news. Gwen reacted as if she hadn’t known.” There is a deep sadness in his expression, and Merlin hurts to see it.

For him, it is already painful enough to see Gwen, his friend, under Morgana’s enchantment, but he wonders what it must feel like in Lancelot’s shoes. What if it had been Arthur instead?

“Lancelot… I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be,” Lancelot shakes his head, smiling ruefully. He clasps Merlin on the shoulder with a firm grip. “It’s not your fault. And I know my love is still in there. I’m not giving up.”

Merlin nods, smiling back. “I know. Me too. I won’t let you and Gwen go through this alone,” he promises. “You have my word.”

“I know, Merlin.” Lancelot releases a sigh, and then looks at Merlin gratefully. “That I never doubted.”

And Merlin, not for the first time, wonders what it must be like had Arthur not removed their banishment or if they had not agreed to come back. He cannot imagine a world without Gwen, much more a world without Lancelot.

He pushes aside such thoughts and finally takes the time to ask, “Why are you staying here?”

Here, Lancelot grins. “She’s rather cross with me, I’m afraid. I haven’t been letting her go out alone. She had been more persistent than usual last night. I’m guessing she had needed to inform Morgana that her plan against you hadn’t worked.”

He nudges his chin towards the door. “She’s dressing right now, preparing for the feast. I’m supposed to head there first, but I’m here just in case she tries to escape.”

Again, Merlin cannot imagine what it must be like for him. “Thank you, Lancelot. I know it must be hard.”

Lancelot smiles sadly. “Not as hard as it must be for her.”

This time, it is Merlin that lays a firm hand on his shoulder. “We _will_ get her back. I promise.”

* * *

With time to spare before the feast, Merlin heads to the dungeons. 

Daegal is huddled in a corner in his cell, wrapping his arms around himself to keep warm. Despite what Daegal had done to him, Merlin cannot find it in himself to feel any more anger for the boy. He whispers a small warming charm, which makes Daegal’s head rise up from his knees in confusion at the sudden change in temperature.

He sees Merlin at the other side of the bars, and his eyes widen in amazement. “Merlin, you’re… you’re alive.”

Merlin shrugs, grinning. “Apparently.”

Daegal’s eyebrows furrow. “But why… Why are you here?” Then, a thought strikes him, and all the color drain from his face. When he speaks, it is small and scared and terrified. “I had thought… executions were done during the day…”

Merlin is quick to assure him. “No one’s been executed in a long time, and I intend to keep it that way,” he says firmly, making sure that Daegal hears every word. He waves a hand and the metal lock of his cell clicks open. “Arthur is letting you go.”

Daegal’s eyes widen yet again, but this time, so does his mouth.

“But you need to stay here in the castle for the next month or so,” Merlin continues, opening the door. He looks at Daegal seriously. “I’ll send word to your parents. Once Morgana knows what you’ve done, she might come for you. I can protect you here.”

Daegal makes a sound of confusion, and there is still fear in his eyes, and he looks at Merlin warily, like a cornered animal. “But why would you… Why would you protect me?” He presses himself in further in the corner, eyes welling up. “I almost killed you!”

 _“Morgana_ almost killed me. Don’t get confused,” Merlin says, gently. He reaches out a hand and waits. “In fact, I daresay you even saved my life.”

When Daegal only continues to look at his hand in fear, he tries some more. “Arthur wouldn’t have reached me on time had you not led them to me.”

“But I…” Daegal squeaks out, turning tear-filled eyes to Merlin’s own. “Don’t I need to be… _hanged_ …?”

And something in Merlin breaks, and he is _angry_ at what Morgana did to this young boy. To take advantage of his innocence and bribe him into committing a sin unforgivable most especially by himself…

He swallows his anger back down, and whispers softly instead. “What you need is a bath. And some supper.”

He steps forward, moves his hand closer. He smiles, trying to seem welcoming, but with his restrained emotions, he fears that it might have come off as a grimace.

“Come. I know just the place for you.”

Slowly, Daegal reaches back.

* * *

Gaius has Merlin’s old bedroom ready for Daegal in just ten minutes.

It is not hard. Most of Merlin’s things are already in Arthur’s chambers, anyway.

* * *

“How did it go?” Arthur asks that night when they are back under the warmth of their blanket. There is a fire lazily burning in the hearth, and Merlin is curled peacefully against him.

“A bit nervous, as expected. He still feels guilt over what he did.”

Arthur sighs, pulling him closer. “I should probably visit him.”

Merlin hides his smile on Arthur’s chest. Just a few years ago, the king visiting a lowly peasant just to ease his anxiety would be laughable. But Arthur has grown into a very emphatic ruler, and Merlin feels an all-too familiar rush of pride at his king.

“Tomorrow,” he says agreeably. “After the treaty signing.”

Arthur’s hold on him tightens. “Stay with me.”

It goes unsaid, but both of them know that there is a high chance of something happening during the signing. Sarrum has been on his best behavior so far, but that does not change his history of assassinating both friend and foe.

And Arthur is not yet quite convinced that Merlin is not going to disappear again and has taken to keeping him physically close at all times. Merlin thinks it amusing, though a bit inconvenient when he is trying to do his work or when he needs to use the chamber pot. It had taken quite a bit of persuasion for Arthur to even let him go to Lancelot and Daegal alone.

But this, Merlin can understand. He is also not quite comfortable letting Arthur out of his sights, not with Gwen still enchanted, and Sarrum still inside Camelot’s walls.

“If he’s going to try to assassinate anyone, you do know that it’s probably going to be you, right?” Merlin snorts. “Of course I’m not going to leave you.”

“Well, I saw you enchanting my armor earlier. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, but a grin is on his lips. “I’ve enchanted your helmet, too. Are you sure there’s no way you can wear it tomorrow? I mean, if anybody’s going to be shooting arrows at you, they’re obviously going to be aiming for your big head.”

“Who wears a helmet in _peace treaty signings_?” Arthur looks down at him with an exasperated expression, which prompts Merlin to push himself up and kiss it away with a laugh.

But underneath all the jokes and banter, they both know that it is not a light matter. Tomorrow can go either way.

Peace can be agreed upon.

Or war may be declared.

* * *

In the dead of night, when the whole castle is in slumber, Queen Guinevere slips from her bed and does not care to muffle her footsteps.

Behind her lay her husband, fast asleep, as he should be until mid-morning.

Outside, a raven caws in triumph as it makes its way through the skies towards its master.

Attached to its leg is a note.

A note of gratitude for the tincture of belladonna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am actually surprised I managed to whip this out as soon as I finished The Process of Healing, but my frustration at S5E8 served as pretty good motivation to write this all the way to the end ;;; I apparently have more unresolved feelings about that episode (Oblivious, thick-headed Arthur actually believing that Merlin was off with a girl when in reality he's been LYING IN A FOREST, POISONED AND DYING AND IN AGONY FOR THREE DAYS. THREE DAYS.) than I thought. :D;;
> 
> The next and final chapter is almost done, and should be up in a few days! <3


	2. Chapter 2

Daegal understands that though he is free from the dungeons, he is still under arrest. The difference is that he has a more comfortable bed and warmer meals, which he is grateful for, but he knows he cannot stay. Who knows when King Arthur will change his mind and decide that he needs to hang for his sins?

As he quietly slips through the door, careful not to wake a snoring Gaius, he recalls Merlin’s words from last night.

Morgana _almost killed me. Don’t get confused._

A traitorous sense of hope wells up inside him, much like how it did when Merlin first uttered them, but he pushes it back down.

He had called Merlin out, and practically led him to his death. He had watched as Morgana poured that vile, black poison through Merlin’s lips, and did nothing as she rolled him down a cliff. When he had run to find help, he had thrown the bag of coins away, disgusted at himself, but it still didn’t change what he did.

He walks through the halls, not too fast to be suspicious, but fast enough to seem purposeful. He is not familiar with these castle walls and he feels the weight of every minute, like a death sentence. He turns wherever there is an empty corner, because sooner or later, he’s bound to see the exit, and then he’s going to run –

“Halt!”

He dashes towards the nearest stairwell and runs up, not even daring to look back.

He has always been a quick runner; years of stealing apples to give to his aging mother and father had seen to that. He feels the distance between him and the knights grow, but still, he runs, until he sees an open door. It is another stairwell, and he dashes into it, before closing it as quickly but as quietly as he can.

And then he waits.

It is like waiting for the guillotine to chop his head off. He keeps his eyes shut and doesn’t even dare to breathe, heart hammering painfully in his chest. There is a sob wanting to escape, but he covers his mouth and presses his hand, hard, against it.

Soon, there is the sound of thundering footsteps, of armor clanking together, and then… And then they pass, and it is quiet once more.

Daegal slides down the wall, keeping his hand on his lips to stifle his whimpers. His heartbeat is loud in his ears and painful in his chest, but he cannot rest here, not yet.

More sounds from the other side of the door has him scrambling to his feet. He is up the narrow stairwell in an instant, legs moving without thought, and by the time he manages to think about where this stairwell leads, he is already at the end of it.

And at the end of it stands an assassin.

King Arthur’s voice ring out from the chamber below. “I welcome this new era of peace between Camelot and Amata, Lord Sarrum.”

All senses heightened and adrenaline thrumming in his veins, it takes Daegal just a few seconds to understand.

Below stands King Arthur. And here, in this vantage point and behind a marble column, stands a soldier with foreign clothes and an aimed crossbow.

He is done watching murder.

Once again, his legs are moving before he has even thought of it.

_“STOP!”_

* * *

 

Lord Sarrum finds an arrow hovering in mid-air, one inch away from his face.

Arthur has stepped back, out of reflex, and shock paints his features. Out of reflex again, he seeks out Merlin, needing to confirm his safety.

Behind him, past his knights and at the side of the room, stand Merlin – pale-faced, wide-eyed, and one hand raised forward.

And then chaos erupts.

Swords are unsheathed all at once, and there are shouts as Queen Guinevere, looking stunned, is escorted outside. Lancelot leads her by the arm and catches Arthur’s eye before the door closes and the only form of escape has been blocked.

Above them, in the balcony, there is a frustrated roar and the sickening sound of bone hitting marble.

All heads turn to see Haggar, Amata’s strongest warrior, wrestling with a boy half his size.

In a heartbeat, Merlin has his other hand raised.

Haggar is lifted in the air, one hand still gripping the crossbow, and the other scratching at his neck to fight the invisible force cutting off his air supply. Daegal falls to the floor, curling into himself.

“Leon,” Arthur snaps, and Leon immediately rushes for the door.

When the door is closed once more, silence reigns in the room. The only sounds that can be heard are the faint echoes of Haggar’s pained grunts from the balcony above.

Arthur’s voice is deadly and it slices through the air.

“I suggest you choose your next words wisely, Lord Sarrum.”

Sarrum shifts his eyes to him, but does not dare to move. The arrow is still pointed between his eyes.

Arthur’s gaze is hard. “Once your assassin makes it clear that he means no harm towards the boy, I will let him go.”

Sarrum does not break eye-contact as he says, croaking, “Haggar. Arms down.”

The crossbow falls noisily to the floor.

Haggar follows soon after.

Merlin flicks his hand and the arrow in front of Sarrum’s face is disposed of, abruptly thrown towards the wall to break itself into pieces.

Above, knights in red capes fill the balcony. Haggar is pinned to the floor, and Daegal is carried away.

Merlin finds some of the tension ease away from his shoulders. That is one less thing to worry about now. He can focus completely on keeping Arthur safe.

King Arthur, who is standing tall and regal in his armor and red cape, with a line of knights behind him, swords out and ready for battle.

His next words ring and echo in the room, sharp as a blade.

“Shall I take this as your declaration of war, Lord Sarrum?”

Sarrum tries on a smile, but it is grim and tense. “A wise man knows when it is a losing battle.”

He waves a hand towards his soldiers, and it takes a while, but his soldiers slowly and warily sheath their swords back in. The swords of Camelot’s knights remain unsheathed.

Arthur’s voice is still unforgiving. “I had hoped you had known that when you first plotted this.”

The edges of Sarrum’s lips quirk further up. “I had a persuasive little devil whispering in my ear.”

Excalibur is out in an instant, and Sarrum finds himself at the end of a blade for the second time that day. His smile withers away.

“Do not speak of my queen in that manner.”

It is a testament to the training of the knights of Camelot that none of them bristle at the sudden revelation.

Nervously, Sarrum licks his lips and swallows to wet his suddenly dry throat. “Ah, so you've known?”

“I had suspicions,” Arthur says coolly. He sheathes Excalibur back in. “She is under Morgana's spell, one that we hope to unravel once peace has been signed.”

He tilts his head meaningfully towards the parchment on the table, not once taking his gaze away.

Sarrum laughs shakily at his tenacity. "You still wish to make peace? I had thought executions were Camelot's way of dealing with things."

"Do not be so eager to die, Lord Sarrum," Arthur says, glaring at his mention of his father's reign. "And executing you will not help either of us in uniting this land. I would like to think that none of us want our people to suffer in war and bloodshed. After all, you had accepted my invitation to talk peace. Had Morgana not interfered, I believe things would have gone smoothly."

He levels Sarrum with a stare and a challenge. "Am I mistaken?"

And though there are no more blades pointed at him, Sarrum feels as if he is still being held at swordpoint. He swallows. “How sure are you that there is Morgana's hand in this? That your queen is not acting of her own accord?”

The question is but a weak deflection of the actual issue at hand as well as an attempt to hit where it hurts. Arthur sees through it completely.

“As sure as I am that you have acted your part in Morgana’s plan perfectly.”

Sarrum’s jaw shuts tight, and Arthur can see the anger simmering in his eyes.

“I will make peace, Arthur Pendragon,” Sarrum all but spits out. “But I ask you, you would still choose to align yourself with sorcery even after losing your queen to it?”

“She is not lost,” Arthur replies immediately, leveling his own glare at him. “And it is in the wielder of magic, much like how it is in the wielder of the sword. There is the sorceress that has beguiled my queen.”

Here, Arthur steps aside for Sarrum to get a full view of Merlin. “And there is the sorcerer that has saved your life, even after you have attempted to take mine.”

Sarrum whips his head to stare at Merlin.

A tall, gangly servant, not hesitating to meet the King of Amata’s eyes head on.

Sarrum is a wise man. And as he said, a wise man knows when it is a losing battle. A part of him is impressed, at the king that Arthur Pendragon has become, his strong will, and at the sorcerer that the young king keeps with him at all times.

But he does not consider himself to have lost and come so low that he is about to acknowledge owing a servant his life.

He is the first to look away.

He grabs the forgotten quill on the table and looks at Arthur instead.

“I do not agree with your kingdom’s acceptance of magic, but I believe we can make peace despite it. From henceforth, consider Amata an ally of Camelot.”

* * *

When Sarrum finally leaves with his retinue, it is like the whole castle breathes a sigh of relief. Servants move more lightly, knights and guards are less tense, and Merlin feels as if a huge thorn has been pricked from his side.

Peace has been signed. Arthur is still safe.

There is only one matter left to attend to, but, Merlin thinks grimly, it is the most difficult one.

He is seated on the staircase leading to Gaius’ bookshelves, an open tome on his lap. Below, seated at the dining table are Arthur, Gaius, and Lancelot. Daegal is in his old room, sleeping peacefully after having been given a tincture to numb the pain on his head.

Arthur is asking, “How did you escape her?”

“I said I needed to report to you,” Lancelot says, a look of misery on his face. “She must have drugged me last night. She gave me some water, but it tasted… It tasted sweet, and before I knew it, it was already mid-morning. I thought I must have just dreamed it…”

He trails off, closing his eyes and sighing. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

Arthur glances up at the stairwell, where Merlin also has a hand buried in his hair. “How does it fare, Merlin?”

Merlin shakes his head with a sigh and flips a page. “I just… If I just had an idea where to start looking…”

Silence, thick and somber, settles in the room at that admission. Lancelot’s shoulders sag lower.

And then, Gaius decides to share the fearsome thought that has been nagging at his mind for a while now. He speaks, careful with his words, “When I was young, I heard talk of an ancient ritual of the Old Religion called the Teine Diaga.”

At once, Merlin perks up and leans against the railing of the staircase. “Teine Diaga?”

Arthur and Lancelot both lean forward as well, but there is a dark shadow on Gaius’ face.

“ _The Sacred Fire_. The ritual used the mandrake root to bring unimaginable terror to the victim. Their screams could be heard twenty leagues away.” Gaius pauses, looking over at Lancelot, whose face is slowly losing its color. “When it was finally over, their will was no longer their own. They were slaves of the High Priestesses for all eternity.”

It is with great effort when Lancelot unlocks his jaw to ask roughly, “And who performed this ritual?”

Gaius looks at him apologetically. “I’ve told you all I know. Such mysteries were revealed only to a handful of female initiates. As a boy, I was only privy to rumors.”

Lancelot leans forward and says desperately, “There must be _someone_ who can help.”

Here, Gaius turns his gaze to Arthur. “I can think of only two people who truly know the old ways. One is Morgana Pendragon.”

Arthur presses his lips tightly together.

And then Gaius looks at Merlin. “The other is the Dochraid.”

Arthur shifts his gaze between the two of them and frowns. He does not know who this Dochraid is but finds that he immediately does not want to meet them. Or _Merlin_ to meet them, especially when Gaius utters his next words.

“But be warned, Merlin. The Dochraid cannot be trusted. She must never know your true identity.”

And even after hearing that, Merlin – the fool – asks, “Where can I find her?”

“ _We,”_ Arthur corrects, raising an eyebrow at Merlin that dares him to challenge it.

Merlin sends him a sheepish smile in reply.

“Legends say that she dwells in a cave past the Valley of the Fallen Kings, near the Isle of the Blessed,” Gaius says.

“I will go,” Lancelot announces firmly. He looks at Arthur, awaiting orders. “Your Majesty.”

His face falls when Arthur shakes his head slowly.

“Guinevere needs you here,” Arthur says softly. There is sympathy in his eyes as he continues, “The Isle of the Blessed is a two-day ride. We need to stop her from meeting up with Morgana as well.”

“But…” Lancelot trails off, growling in frustration. “I cannot sit here and watch you and Merlin put yourselves in danger. And… Arthur…” Here, he looks up, and there is no pretense of a knight talking to his king anymore. Here is a man, devastated and on the brink of losing the love of his life. “She’s my _wife.”_

Arthur is silent after that, anguish painting his features as he hurts for his friend.

Merlin can actually pinpoint the exact moment that Arthur is about to give in, and he cuts him off, speaking with a soft voice, “We _will_ get her back, Lancelot. She’s also our friend. Let us help you.”

There is a few more moments of heavy silence, before Lancelot breaks it with a defeated sigh. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and when he opens them again, there is a firm resolve on his face. He looks at the three of them and nods, giving them a small but grateful smile.

“I will also do what I can. Thank you.”

* * *

Daegal wakes up in a soft, warm bed. Having lived in poverty, that in itself is already unbelievable, but waking up to the _King of Camelot_ by your bedside is something else entirely.

Through the haze of sleep, he wonders if he’s dreaming.

“You, my friend,” King Arthur starts, smiling gently. “Have just saved my life.”

And _then_ Daegal realizes that he’s _not_ dreaming, King Arthur really is by his bedside, and he has been staring dumbly with his mouth open for the past ten seconds. He is completely awake in an instant, and he scrambles backward, tries to get out of bed to curtsy or fall to his knees or something, but a hand falls on his shoulder and keeps his arse right on the mattress.

He whips his head around to the other side of the bed, and sees Merlin grinning at him with an amused expression.

 _Merlin._ Merlin who he had betrayed, but who had tried to comfort him last night and who is still here, standing beside him like a… like a _friend_.

He glances at Arthur, wide-eyed, and then back to Merlin. He thinks back to the past few days, all the things he did, the guilt he’s carried, and… His eyes start to water. “Did… Did I do something good?” he asks, and it’s barely a whisper, but Merlin hears it anyway.

His expression softens and the hand on Daegal’s shoulder tightens.

“Yeah. Yeah, you have.”

And a shudder of relief passes through Daegal then, because finally. _Finally._ He closes his eyes and tries to stop his tears, because it seems that all he’s been doing in front of them is cry.

But then King Arthur goes and says, “What do you say about a position in the royal household?”

And it’s such a shocking question that tears fall down his cheeks as he releases a short, startled laugh. Him? Working in the castle? It’s unbelievable. Too good to be true. He could finally give his parents some proper suppers. New clothes.

“Uhm,” he chuckles, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. His fingers are shaking. “Well, I’ll have to ask my mother first.”

King Arthur grins brightly. “Of course. You’ll also have to tell me where I can send them an invitation to the feast we’ll be holding in your honor.”

Daegal looks at him in bewilderment, eyes boggling. “A... A feast? In _my_ honor?”

His parents would be… Well, they would be _ecstatic,_ but then he has no idea how explaining things to them would fare.

“You saved my life, Daegal,” King Arthur says, the grin not leaving his face. “Not just mine, but also Merlin’s, and for that, I am greatly indebted to you.”

“I…” Daegal stammers out, cheeks coloring. “No. It was nothing. I just… I just wanted to make up for what I did to Merlin.”

He looks at Merlin again, uncertain, but Merlin is sending him a grin of his own.

“And I believe you have accomplished that and more,” King Arthur says.

And for the first time, Daegal finds that he finally believes Merlin’s words.

 _“_ Morgana _almost killed me. Don’t get confused. In fact, I daresay you even saved my life.”_

He didn’t hurt anyone. He did something _good._

He’s crying again, sniffling, but still, he tries to convey his gratitude.

“Thank you… Your Majesty, thank you.”

* * *

As they enter back into the comfort of the king’s chambers, Arthur starts to remove his armor.

In an instant, Merlin is by his side, helping him with his chest plate, and it is here that Arthur sighs exasperatedly and says, “Alright, you’ve been looking more constipated than usual, Merlin. Spit it out.”

Not at all surprised at having been found out, Merlin smiles sheepishly. He starts to work on Arthur’s leg braces, just so he could kneel and look down and avoid Arthur’s eyes. “Err, well, I’ve been thinking. Hmm. How do you feel about relaxing here in Camelot while I just go off and –”

“Meet this Dochraid, who is commendably knowledgeable about torture rituals of the Old Religion?” Arthur’s tone is dry and not amused. “Denied.”

Merlin winces at having been rejected from the get-go. He gathers both of Arthur’s leg braces in his arms and stands up, frowning. “Well, I’m just not very comfortable with the King of Camelot leaving the safety of his kingdom with just his manservant.”

“Who is also the most powerful sorcerer alive,” Arthur says obligingly.

Merlin’s nose scrunches up. “I mean, we don’t know that…”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “And I’m also not very comfortable with my lover dallying off into danger. Alone.” He glares. “Especially after you almost…” he trails off, frustrated.

And Merlin continues the farce, but the soft, rather sappy smile on his face already tells Arthur that he has won. “You just said that I’m the most powerful sorcerer alive. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“And you just said that we don’t know that.”

Merlin makes a show of sighing exasperatedly. “I can’t decide whether I had a more difficult time saving your hide before you knew about my magic or _after._ ”

“Admit it,” Arthur snorts. “You like being able to use magic to conjure my bath instead of taking the trips up and down the castle.”

They both turn to the tub in the middle of the room, which had floated from its hiding place when they entered and had since then been slowly filling itself with warm water.

“Mmm. Guilty,” Merlin says with a cheeky grin, obviously not guilty at all.

Arthur shakes his head at him in fond exasperation. He leans forward and steals himself a small, slow kiss. “We’ll take a few men. Say that we’re on a hunt to celebrate the signing of peace with Amata.”

“...Alright.”

Arthur smiles, pleased. “Tomorrow.”

Merlin sighs and rolls his eyes, but there is a mirroring smile on his face. “Tomorrow.”

* * *

Merlin wakes, pleasantly, to fingers gently brushing through his hair and the warmth of Arthur’s bare skin against his cheek. He hums softly, kissing what his lips can reach.

The fingers stop in surprise at the knowledge that he is awake, before they resume again, with more purpose now.

“I’m sorry. I must have woken you,” Arthur murmurs from his position above.

He shifts, slides his body down the bed and slips an arm beneath Merlin’s head.

Merlin’s face is pressed against Arthur’s neck now, and he kisses that gently too.

The heaviness in his eyes and the darkness of the room tell him that it is still the middle of the night, probably just a few hours since he fell asleep. He frowns, pulling back to search for Arthur’s eyes in the dark. “Having a hard time sleeping?”

The look of worry on his face has Arthur moving forward, capturing his lips. Immediately, Merlin surrenders beneath him, mouth welcoming Arthur’s tongue with a pleased sigh.

Arthur licks at his lower lip, before sucking on it as he pulls away.

Merlin fights the urge to chase him. He reaches a hand up instead, cupping Arthur’s cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s been difficult,” Arthur admits, closing his eyes. He leans towards Merlin’s touch, turns his head, and kisses Merlin’s palm. “There is a fear in me to wake up and find you gone again. When I saw you in the Valley of the Fallen Kings, Merlin…”

His voice, desperate and breaking, trails off, and Merlin hurts to hear it, as much as he is flooded with love for this man in front of him.

He cannot help the smile on his face then, and the feelings that make his cheeks warm and his chest close to bursting.

Merlin knows that their troubles are far from over. Tomorrow, they will ride to meet the Dochraid and seek for ways to remove the spell on Guinevere’s soul. Along the way, there are many more things that they need to mend, but here, he can start.

“I love you, Arthur,” he murmurs happily, kissing Arthur again. He reverses their positions, inching upwards and arranging their limbs so that it is his arm under Arthur’s head and Arthur’s nose in the crook of his neck. He swings his other arm around Arthur’s shoulders and pulls him close, and promises fervently, “Even the gods cannot keep me away from you.”

It is a wild promise, but Merlin considers it his victory when Arthur chuckles and relaxes in his arms.

He cards his fingers through Arthur’s hair, slowly, much like how Arthur had done it earlier.

“Sleep. Let me watch over you this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this won't dwell on S5E9 where they save Gwen. That is another story for another day, but I still hope you enjoyed reading this! Happy New Year, everyone!


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